Chapter 4: Scanners and Sore Feelings
The afterglow soured like milk left in the sun.
Jess stood in the middle of the living room, still naked from the waist down, her charcoal-gray Wand jacket hanging open and doing absolutely nothing to preserve her dignity. Her dark hair had come completely loose from its bun and hung in tangled ropes around her shoulders. There was a smudge of something—she didn't want to think about what—on her collarbone.
"It was a lust bomb," she said. "It has to be a lust bomb. The Consortium has been developing—"
"Jess." Stacy's voice was flat. "Stop."
"—psychoactive magical agents designed to induce—"
"Jess."
"—compromising behavior in target populations, and if they deployed one here, we need to—"
"Agent Kay." Yukio's voice cut through the room like a blade. She was leaning on her cane, her dark eyes sharp despite the exhaustion etched into the lines around them. "Breathe."
Jess stopped talking. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"It wasn't a lust bomb," Yukio said.
"You don't know that."
"I know the Consortium's arsenal. I've been tracking their signature tech for two years." Yukio limped across the room, her cane clicking against the hardwood. "Lust bombs leave residue. Magical fallout. A shimmer in the air that lingers for hours. I don't smell anything."
Jess's face crumpled. "But—"
"You just fucked four people in the span of two hours and you're trying to find a reason that isn't just that you wanted to."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Ben had managed to find a throw pillow and was holding it over his crotch with the kind of desperate grip that suggested he was considering whether he could just live like that forever. His face was the color of a ripe tomato, and he was staring at a point somewhere on the far wall like he was trying to teleport himself out of the room through sheer force of will.
Jason caught his eye.
Ben's father—a man who still wore corduroy jackets in the Miami heat and had once spent an entire Thanksgiving dinner explaining the finer points of tax law to a bored twelve-year-old Mandy—gave him a thumbs-up.
A proud thumbs-up. The kind of thumbs-up you gave someone who'd just scored the winning touchdown.
Amy beamed beside him. She mouthed something across the room, her lips forming the words with exaggerated clarity: That's my boy.
Ben made a sound like a dying whale.
Rebecca had crossed to the couch the moment she'd entered the room, her blue eyes fixed on her daughter with the kind of laser focus that only a mother could achieve. Felicity was still tangled in the sheets, her blonde hair a disaster, her pale skin flushed from her forehead to her collarbone. She looked like a deer caught in headlights, if the deer had been caught mid-orgasm and was now facing the prospect of explaining itself to its parents.
"Mom," Felicity said. Her voice cracked. "I can explain—"
Rebecca pulled her into a hug.
It was a tight hug. The kind of hug that said I love you and I'm not mad and I'm just glad you're safe all at once. Felicity made a small, surprised sound against her mother's shoulder, and then her arms came up and wrapped around Rebecca's back and she buried her face in her mother's neck.
"You're fine," Rebecca murmured. "You're fine. I've got you."
Charley stood awkwardly a few feet away, his thin frame silhouetted against the flickering holographic chessboard. He looked at Mai, who was sprawled on the other end of the couch with absolutely no attempt to cover herself, her olive skin gleaming in the amber light from the floating lanterns.
"Are you, uh—" He cleared his throat. "Are you cold?"
Mai stretched.
It was a deliberate stretch. The kind of stretch that involved arching her back and extending her arms above her head and making sure that every single muscle in her body was displayed to its best advantage. Her dark hair fell across the cushions in a wild wave, and her lips curved into a smile that was pure mischief.
"Not even a little," she said. Her English accent made the words sound like a song. "But thank you for asking, Mr. Winkle. You're very sweet."
Charley's face went through several colors in quick succession. He finally settled on a kind of resigned pink.
Yukio limped over to Jess, her cane clicking against the floor with each step. When she reached the younger woman, she pulled a small device from her pocket—a Golden Wand scanner, sleek and silver, with the faint golden glow of active enchantment pulsing at its core.
"Here," she said, pressing it into Jess's hands. "Scan the room. Tell me what you find."
Jess looked at the scanner. Looked at Yukio. Looked at the scanner again.
"I—"
"You're a Wand agent. Act like one."
Jess's jaw tightened. She nodded once, then raised the scanner and began a slow sweep of the room. The device hummed in her hands, its golden light sweeping across the furniture, the walls, the floor.
The room watched.
Casey had settled onto the arm of the couch next to Mandy, who was still naked and still completely unbothered by it. Her brown hair was a sweaty mess, and there was a hickey blooming on her neck that hadn't been there an hour ago, but she sat with the kind of easy comfort that came from knowing exactly who she was and exactly what she wanted.
"You're too thin," Casey said.
Mandy blinked. "What?"
"Too thin. Look at you." Casey poked her daughter's ribs. "You need to eat more. I'm going to make you breakfast tomorrow, and you're going to eat all of it."
"Mom—"
"I'm serious, Bug. You're wasting away."
"I'm literally the same size I've always been."
"Then you've always been too thin. Eat something."
From the other side of the room, Beth made a sound that might have been a laugh. She'd found a blanket somewhere and had wrapped it around her shoulders like a cape, her short blonde hair sticking up in every direction. Rachel was gone—vanished into whatever dimension she'd come from—but Beth didn't look worried. She looked satisfied. Content. Like a cat who'd just finished a very large bowl of cream.
"She's right," Beth said. "You're wasting away, Mandy. All those late nights working on computers. When's the last time you had a real meal?"
Mandy flipped her off.
Casey turned to look at Ben and Jess, her brown eyes scanning them with the kind of frank appraisal that only a mother could get away with. Ben was still clutching the throw pillow. Jess was still holding the scanner, her face a mask of concentration.
"You're a lucky woman," Casey said to Mandy.
Mandy followed her mother's gaze. Looked at Ben, flushed and mortified and still beautiful despite it. Looked at Jess, focused and determined and fierce even when she was naked from the waist down.
"Yeah," Mandy said. "I know."
Beth nodded. "They're good for you. Both of them."
"I know."
"Your parents would be proud," Beth added. "If they weren't standing right here."
Casey snorted. "We're proud. We're also standing right here."
Mike had found a chair—one of the ornamental ones that Judy had shipped over from somewhere in Southeast Asia—and had settled into it with the kind of deep resignation that came from twenty years of dealing with the Williamson family's particular brand of chaos. He looked at Stacy, who was on her hands and knees, searching under the couch for her underwear.
"What happened?" he asked.
Stacy's voice was muffled. "What do you mean, what happened?"
"The orgy, Stacy. The naked bodies. The smell of sex that's going to take a week to get out of the curtains." He paused. "The missing girl."
Stacy sat back on her heels. She'd found one of her shoes—a sensible black pump—but not the other one. Or her underwear. Or her dignity.
"I came by to find an orgy already in progress," she said. "Rachel was here."
"Go on."
"There was just a lot of fucking going on. And something in the air. I think Mandy and the others decided to do something to ease the tension of knowing the Consortium was coming."
Mike's expression didn't change. "And then?"
"And then everyone started taking off their clothes." Stacy shook her head. "I don't know how it happened. One minute we were talking about security protocols, and the next minute Mandy was riding Rick on the rug."
"And you just... joined in?"
"I—" Stacy stopped. Looked at her hands. Looked at the rug. Looked at Rick, who was sitting against the wall with a dazed expression and what appeared to be lipstick marks on his chest. "Yes. I joined in."
Mike nodded slowly.
"It's Miami," he said. "These things happen."
Rebecca pulled back from Felicity, holding her daughter at arm's length. Her blue eyes were wet, but her smile was genuine.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
Felicity nodded. "I'm okay."
"You're not hurt?"
"I'm not hurt."
"Good." Rebecca released her, then turned to look at Bruce, who was still on the couch trying to find his pants. "You. Scotsman."
Bruce froze. "Aye?"
"Are you treating my daughter well?"
"I—" Bruce swallowed. "I like to think so, ma'am."
"Good." Rebecca's smile sharpened. "Because if you're not, I know seventeen different ways to make a man disappear without leaving a trace. I learned them all from a former Auditor who now sleeps next to me every night."
Charley made a small sound of protest. "I never taught you—"
"You didn't have to teach me, sweetheart. I have a PhD in Paranormal Studies. I read."
Bruce looked like he was about to be sick.
Yukio's scanner beeped.
The sound cut through the room like a knife. Everyone turned to look at Jess, who was staring at the device in her hands with an expression of slowly dawning horror.
"What is it?" Stacy asked.
Jess didn't answer. She swept the scanner in a slow arc, watching the readout flicker and change. Then she swept it again. And again.
"There's a signature," she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "A Consortium Ghost field."
Yukio's jaw tightened. "Where?"
"Here." Jess pointed at a spot on the floor near the window. "And here. And here." She followed a trail of shimmering air, the scanner beeping with increasing frequency. "It leads to the door."
"What does that mean?" Mandy asked. She'd finally found her shirt and was pulling it over her head, her voice muffled by fabric. "What's a Ghost field?"
"It's a cloaking technology," Yukio said. "The Consortium developed it about five years ago. It doesn't just make you invisible—it makes you impossible to detect. Magically, physically, electronically. You could walk through this room naked and no one would see you."
"Someone was here," Jess said. "Someone was standing right there." She pointed at the window. "And they walked straight through the room—past all of us—and they took Rachel."
The room went silent.
Mandy finished pulling on her shirt. Her face had gone pale, the kind of pale that Stacy had only seen a handful of times in her life. The look of a woman who'd just realized she'd been violated in a way she couldn't even understand.
"They were here," Mandy said. "They were here the whole time."
"While we were—"
"Yes."
"And they just... walked her out the door."
Jess nodded. "The signature ends at the door. Whoever it was—they didn't run. They didn't panic. They just walked out. And Rachel went with them."
Ben had finally managed to put on his shorts. He stood up, his face hard, his jaw set.
"We need to go after them," he said.
"Where?" Stacy asked. "We don't know where they went. We don't know who took her."
"We know it was the Consortium."
"We know someone with Consortium tech took her. That's not the same thing."
"We know enough." Ben's voice was tight. "We know Rachel's been missing for a year. We know she just got out. We know she's Beth's best friend and Mandy's housemate and she's been through hell and we just let her get taken right from under us while we were all—while I was—"
He stopped. His hands were shaking.
Mandy crossed the room and took his hand. Her grip was firm, steady, the kind of grip that said I've got you even when everything else is falling apart.
"We'll find her," she said.
"How?"
"I don't know yet. But we will."
Jason had moved to stand beside Amy, his hand on her shoulder. He looked at Mike, then at Casey, then at the other adults in the room.
"What do you need?" he asked.
Mike rose from his chair. His knees popped—the kind of sound that only happened when you got older and your body decided to betray you on a regular basis—and he stretched his back with a wince.
"You need to get dressed," he said. "We need to figure out what we know and what we don't know. And then we need to find Rachel before whoever took her does whatever they're planning to do."
"And if we can't?" Bruce asked.
Mike looked at him. His expression was the kind of expression that Stacy had seen a thousand times before—the look of a man who'd been through too much weirdness to be scared of anything anymore.
"We'll find her," he said. "Because that's what we do."
Jeeves floated into the room.
The mechanical sphere hummed as it bobbed through the doorway, its numerous small arms folded against its body. It paused in the center of the room, its sensor eye flickering as it scanned the scene.
"Master Bruce," it said. "There is a message for you. It was delivered to the workshop thirty-seven minutes ago."
Bruce looked up. "What kind of message?"
"A letter, Master Bruce. Hand-delivered. The courier wore a charcoal-gray suit and sunglasses."
The room went very, very still.
Bruce crossed to the floating sphere, his hand outstretched. One of Jeeves's arms extended, holding a plain white envelope sealed with wax. The wax was red, stamped with a symbol that everyone in the room recognized.
A circle with a diagonal line through it. Pi.
Bruce took the envelope. His fingers were steady as he broke the seal—steadier than Stacy would have been, steadier than she felt now.
He read the letter in silence. Read it again. Then he looked up, his brown eyes meeting Stacy's across the room.
"They have Rachel," he said. "And they want to trade."
Stacy stepped forward. "Trade for what?"
Bruce's voice was tight. "For her brother."
The silence that followed was the kind of silence that came before the storm.
Bruce handed the letter to Stacy without a word.
She read it twice, her grey eyes moving across the neat, typewritten lines with the kind of cold focus that had kept her alive through thirty years of interdimensional nonsense. The paper was plain white, uncreased, the kind of stationery you could buy at any office supply store in any city in the world. The words were simple.
We have Rachel Murphy. She is unharmed. Bring us Edward Murphy at the coordinates below within forty-eight hours, or we will return her to the Shine. Do not involve the Golden Wands. Do not involve the Green Moons. Come alone, or she dies.
Stacy folded the letter. Folded it again. Slipped it into the pocket of her jacket like it was a receipt she might need to return.
"They want Eddie," she said.
"He's in prison," Mike said. "Federal prison. Maximum security. For terrorism, for conspiracy, for—"
"I know what he's in for."
"Then they know we can't just hand him over."
"They know." Stacy's voice was flat. "That's the point. They're not asking for something we can give. They're asking for something we'll try to give anyway, and they'll use that to trap us."
Casey had moved to stand beside her husband. She was still wearing the rumpled shirt she'd flown in, her dark hair streaked with silver and her brown eyes sharp despite the exhaustion that lined her face.
"So we don't play their game," she said. "We find her ourselves."
"How?" Mandy asked. She'd finished pulling on her clothes—shorts, a tank top, no bra—and was already reaching for the tablet she'd left on the coffee table. "The Ghost field signature is the only lead we have, and it's weak. It's already fading."
"Then we work fast." Stacy turned to Jess. "You said you'd check with Golden Wand command. Make sure the charcoal-suited person wasn't one of your own."
Jess nodded. Her face was still pale, but her jaw had set into something harder. "I'll contact the Merlin directly. If someone from the Order went rogue—or if someone's impersonating us—I need to know."
"Do it." Stacy looked at Mandy. "You said you can track the Ghost field?"
"I can try." Mandy was already tapping at her tablet, her fingers flying across the screen with the kind of speed that came from years of practice. "I've never worked with Consortium cloaking tech before, but if I can isolate the signature, I might be able to trace it back to its point of origin."
"How long?"
"An hour. Maybe two. Depends on how much residue is left."
"Start now."
Mandy nodded and headed for the stairs that led down to her basement workspace. Ben moved to follow her, but Stacy caught his arm.
"Stay," she said. "I need you here."
Ben looked at the stairs, then at Stacy. His jaw tightened, but he nodded.
Casey took Stacy aside.
It wasn't subtle. Casey never did subtle. She just hooked her arm through Stacy's and steered her toward the kitchen, away from the others, her grip firm enough that Stacy would have had to actively resist to break free.
"You fucked my son," Casey said.
Stacy didn't flinch. "I did."
"And my daughter."
"I did that too."
Casey stopped walking. She turned to face Stacy, her brown eyes gleaming with something that might have been amusement or might have been something else entirely.
"That's two of my kids," she said. "You've fucked two of my kids, Stacy. I've got two more."
Stacy met her gaze. Held it. Let the silence stretch between them like a held breath.
"I've fucked you too," she said.
Casey's eyebrows rose.
"And Mike."
The silence continued. Casey's expression flickered—surprise, then something softer, then that familiar smirk that Stacy had seen a thousand times over twenty years of friendship.
"Right," Casey said. "The partner swap. Christmas, 2044."
"New Year's, actually. You and Mike and me and—"
"And Jan." Casey's smirk widened. "I remember. Jan's idea, originally. She wanted to see if you and I would—what was her word?—collide."
"We collided."
"We did." Casey's voice had gone warm, the kind of warmth that came from memory rather than desire. "You were very good."
"So were you."
Casey shrugged. The gesture was casual, almost dismissive, but there was something in her eyes that suggested she was filing this information away for later. "Well," she said. "I guess that makes us even."
"Does it?"
"Not even close." Casey hooked her arm through Stacy's again and started walking. "But it's a start."
Jess had found her phone.
She stood by the window, her back to the room, her voice low as she spoke into the device. The scanner was still in her other hand, its golden light pulsing weakly as it searched for any remaining traces of the Ghost field.
"Yes," she said. "I need to speak to the Merlin directly. Authorization code seven-three-alpha-tango-nine. Tell her it's Agent Kay. Tell her it's urgent."
A pause.
"I don't care if she's in a meeting. This is a Code Blackwater situation. She'll want to know."
Another pause. Jess's shoulders were tight, her free hand clenched at her side.
"I'll hold."
Mandy emerged from the basement twenty minutes later.
Her hair was pulled back now, her fingers smudged with something that might have been grease or might have been ink. She carried her tablet in one hand and a small, cobbled-together device in the other—a mess of wires and crystals and what appeared to be a repurposed coffee grinder.
"I've got something," she said.
Everyone turned.
"The Ghost field signature is degrading fast, but it's not a standard Consortium model. It's been modified." Mandy set the device on the coffee table and began connecting wires to her tablet. "Someone added a secondary enchantment. Something that masks the magical signature of whoever's using it."
"Can you trace it?" Stacy asked.
"Not the person. But the enchantment itself—it leaves a different kind of residue. Something that's keyed to a specific location." Mandy tapped at her tablet, and a holographic map materialized above the coffee table. "I found traces of that residue on the letter. And I think I know where it's coming from."
The map zoomed in on a location on the Miami coast. A stretch of beach, undeveloped, bordered by mangroves and the kind of dense vegetation that could hide anything.
"There's an old Consortium facility here," Mandy said. "Decommissioned. Or at least, it was supposed to be. But the enchantment signature matches the kind of security systems they used to use for their black sites."
Stacy stepped forward. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure." Mandy's voice was steady, but there was something underneath it—something shaky, something scared. "They took Rachel there. I don't know why, I don't know what they want with her, but that's where she is."
Mike had moved to stand beside Stacy. He looked at the map, then at Stacy, then at the others in the room.
"We need a plan," he said.
"We need a lot of things." Stacy's hand moved to her hip, where her gun would have been if she'd been carrying it. "But first, we need to get everyone somewhere safe."
"I'm not leaving," Ben said.
"Neither am I," Jess added. She'd finished her call and was sliding her phone back into her pocket. "The Merlin is checking our records. If someone from the Order is involved, she'll know within the hour."
"And if it's not someone from the Order?"
"Then it's someone who knows enough to impersonate us." Jess's jaw tightened. "Which is almost worse."
The older generation exchanged glances.
Mike and Casey. Jason and Amy. Rebecca and Charley. Yukio, leaning on her cane, her dark eyes watching everything.
"We'll find a hotel," Mike said. "Somewhere close. Somewhere we can be reached if anything changes."
Casey nodded. "And if you need backup—"
"We'll call," Stacy said. "I promise."
"You'd better." Casey stepped forward and pulled Stacy into a hug. It was brief, fierce, the kind of hug that said more than words could. "Be careful, old friend."
"I always am."
"No, you're not. But I love you anyway."
They filed out one by one. Jason clapped Ben on the shoulder. Amy kissed his cheek and whispered something that made him blush. Rebecca hugged Felicity one more time, then followed her husband out the door. Charley paused at the threshold and looked back at Mai.
"Stay warm," he said.
Mai laughed. It was a bright, unforced sound that cut through the tension like sunlight through fog. "I'll do my best, Mr. Winkle."
And then they were gone.
The hotel was a Marriott, twelve stories of beige stucco and tinted glass, close enough to the beach that you could smell salt in the air. Mike had booked three rooms—one for him and Casey, one for Jason and Amy, one for Rebecca and Charley. Yukio, who had insisted on staying close in case her expertise was needed, had taken a room of her own on the same floor.
It was late by the time they'd settled in. The clock on the nightstand read 2:47 AM, and Mike's body ached with the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that came from too many hours in the air and too many shocks to the system in too short a time.
He'd taken a shower. A long one, hot enough to steam up the bathroom mirrors, and he'd stood under the spray until his legs threatened to give out. When he finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel, his hair still dripping, the room beyond the door was quiet.
He should have expected what he found.
Casey was in bed. That part was normal. Casey naked in bed was also normal—she'd never been one for pajamas, and after twenty years of marriage, Mike had long since gotten used to the sight of her body, soft and warm and familiar.
What wasn't normal was the second body beside her.
Yukio lay on the other side of the bed, her dark hair spread across the pillow, her olive skin gleaming in the low light from the lamp on the nightstand. She was naked too. Completely, unselfconsciously naked, the rose tattoo on her shoulder and the dragon on her back both visible as she twisted slightly to look at him.
Her cane was propped against the nightstand. Her dark eyes were bright.
"Hello, Mike," she said.
Mike stood in the bathroom doorway. Water dripped from his hair onto his shoulders. His towel was the only thing preserving what was left of his dignity.
"Yukio," he said.
"Don't look so surprised." Yukio shifted on the bed, propping herself up on one elbow. The movement made the muscles in her back move, made the dragon tattoo seem to ripple. "You and Casey did a partner swap with Amy and Jason on the private jet. I heard you through the bulkhead."
Mike's face went hot. "You—"
"The walls on those things are thinner than you think." Yukio's smile was slow, knowing. "You were very enthusiastic. Both of you."
Casey laughed. She was spread out on her side of the bed, her silver-streaked hair fanned across the pillow, her brown eyes dancing with amusement.
"Mike," she said. "You're dripping on the carpet."
Mike looked down. She was right. He was dripping on the carpet.
"I—"
"Get in the bed," Casey said.
"Both of you," Yukio added. "I want a turn."
Mike looked at his wife. Casey looked back at him, her expression unreadable, the kind of look she'd given him a thousand times over twenty years of marriage—that look that said I love you and I'm game if you are.
He looked at Yukio. The adventurer. The Dragonrider. The woman who'd spent decades chasing monsters across the world and had the scars to prove it.
She was watching him with the kind of patient hunger that made his throat go dry.
"I don't—" he started.
"Don't think," Yukio said. "Just come here."
Mike dropped the towel.
He crossed the room in three steps and climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Casey rolled toward him, and Yukio rolled toward both of them, and then there were hands everywhere—Casey's hands on his chest, Yukio's hands on his thighs, his own hands reaching for whatever skin he could find.
Yukio kissed him first.
Her mouth was warm and wet and tasted of mint toothpaste and something else—something darker, something smoky. She kissed with the kind of focused intensity that she brought to everything, like he was a puzzle she was determined to solve.
Casey's mouth found his neck. Her teeth grazed his earlobe. Her hand slid down his stomach and wrapped around his cock.
"So eager," she murmured against his skin.
"It's been a while," he said.
"It's been two hours."
"Feels longer."
Yukio pulled back from the kiss. Her dark eyes were bright, her lips parted, her breath coming fast.
"I want to watch," she said.
"Watch what?"
"You and Casey." Yukio settled back against the pillows, stretching her legs out, letting him see all of her. "I've heard stories about you two. About what you do to each other. I want to see it."
Casey's hand tightened on his cock. "You heard stories?"
"From Jan." Yukio's smile was wicked. "She's very detailed."
Mike groaned. "Of course she is."
"Don't complain." Casey released his cock and pushed him onto his back. "You love it."
He did love it. That was the thing. He'd spent twenty years with this woman, and he still couldn't get enough of her. The way she moved, the way she smelled, the way she looked at him like he was the only person in the world.
She straddled him.
Her body was warm and soft and familiar, the curve of her hips fitting against his like they'd been designed for each other. She leaned down and kissed him, slow and deep, while Yukio watched.
"Tell me what you want," Casey whispered.
"You."
"You have me." She ground against him, her wetness slick against his cock. "Tell me what you really want."
Mike's brain had stopped working. All he could feel was the heat of her, the weight of her, the way she was teasing him with every small movement of her hips.
"I want—"
"Say it."
"I want to be inside you."
Casey smiled. It was the smile she'd worn on their wedding day, the smile she'd worn when she'd told him she was pregnant with Rick, the smile that had kept him going through every weird adventure and every terrifying moment of their lives together.
"Good answer," she said.
She sank down on him.
Mike gasped. He couldn't help it. After twenty years, after three children, after every possible variation of sex they'd ever tried, she still felt like this—tight and hot and perfect, like she'd been made for him.
Casey moaned. Her head fell back, her silver-streaked hair tumbling down her shoulders, her mouth open in pleasure.
"Fuck," she breathed.
Yukio watched.
Her hand had drifted between her own legs. Her fingers moved in slow circles, her breath coming faster as she watched Mike and Casey move together, the rhythm building between them.
"You're beautiful," she said.
"Who?" Mike managed.
"Both of you." Yukio's voice was thick, her accent more pronounced than usual. "The way you move together. The way you know each other's bodies. It's—" She paused, her fingers pressing harder. "It's beautiful."
Casey leaned down and kissed him again. Her hips didn't stop moving. She rode him with the kind of patient expertise that came from years of practice, her internal muscles clenching around him in ways that made his vision blur.
"I'm not going to last," he warned.
"You never do." Casey kissed his neck. "But that's okay. Yukio's not done with you yet."
Mike looked at Yukio. She'd shifted on the bed, moving closer, her hand still between her legs, her dark eyes fixed on his face.
"She's right," Yukio said. "I've barely started."
Casey rolled off him.
The sudden absence of her heat made Mike gasp, but before he could protest, Casey was pulling him to his knees and pushing him toward Yukio.
"Your turn," she said.
Yukio rose to meet him.
She was careful—he could see it in the way she moved, the way she favored her injured side, the way her hand darted to her hip as if checking that everything was still where it should be. But there was nothing hesitant about the way she kissed him, nothing tentative about the way she pulled him down onto the bed and positioned herself beneath him.
"I've wanted this for a while," she admitted.
"Why didn't you say something?"
"I did. Just now." Her smile was wry. "I'm not exactly subtle."
Mike laughed. The sound surprised him—it was the laugh of a man who'd just realized that he was about to have sex with a world-class adventurer while his wife watched, and that this was, somehow, the least complicated thing to happen all day.
"I noticed."
"Stop talking." Yukio wrapped her legs around his waist. "Fuck me."
He did.
She was different from Casey—tighter, more tense, her body carrying the scars of a lifetime of adventures. But the sounds she made when he pushed inside her were the same: that small gasp of pleasure, that low moan that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her chest.
Harder.
He went harder. She arched beneath him, her nails digging into his back, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"You're—" He couldn't finish the sentence.
"I know." She laughed, the sound breathless. "Casey, help me."
Casey moved without hesitation.
She settled behind Mike, her hands on his hips, her lips pressing against his shoulder. She guided him, adjusting the angle, pushing him deeper into Yukio's willing body with every thrust.
Yukio cried out.
There was no other word for it—no description that could capture the raw, unfiltered pleasure in that sound. Her back arched, her head fell back, and Mike felt her tighten around him like a fist.
"Don't stop," Casey whispered. "Don't fucking stop."
He didn't.
He was losing himself in it, in the heat and the rhythm and the pure animal joy of sex. Yukio was bucking beneath him, meeting every thrust, her nails raking down his chest. She was muttering things he didn't understand—Japanese, maybe, or Welsh, or some language she'd picked up on her travels—and her eyes were wild and her mouth was open and he could feel her getting close.
"Come on," he said. "Come on."
Yukio came.
The grip of her around his cock was almost painful—tight, rhythmic, milking him with every spasming clench. He held on as long as he could, riding out her orgasm, and then Casey whispered something in his ear and he was gone, emptying himself inside Yukio with a force that left him gasping.
He collapsed on top of her.
For a moment, nobody moved. The only sound was the three of them breathing, slow and heavy, the air thick with the smell of sweat and sex.
"That was—" Yukio started.
"The fuck it was," Casey finished.
Yukio laughed. Mike felt it vibrate through her chest.
"I was going to say 'lovely,'" she said. "But that works too."
Mike rolled off her, landing on his back between the two of them. His body felt like it had been through a wringer, but there was a smile on his face that he couldn't seem to wipe away.
"Someone's phone is buzzing," Casey said.
Mike looked around the room. His phone was on the nightstand, and it was definitely buzzing—a persistent, insistent vibration that suggested whoever was calling wasn't going to give up any time soon.
He reached for it. Checked the screen.
Mandy.
"What is it?" Casey asked.
Mike put the phone to his ear. "Yeah?"
"It's Rachel," Mandy said. Her voice was shaking. "I found her. But we need to move fast. They're going to kill her, Dad. They're going to kill her and we don't have much time."